The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1887-05-31
"Oh, not that sort of a cloudl Not


real one."
GAS real as you like.'' ,
"But tonight oh, kind angel, there
are so many who would like to go with
you, and IL want to stayl" &
"Those sighing creaturesp It is you
that wish, not they" .a u
"But love to dance so-and people
who die-you know how exceedingly
inconyenient it must be to fit one's
dress over wingsl In fact, don't see
how it can be elone at all. And my
dress is perfect. Oh. you ought to see
It'll It is ideal And you never saw.
me dancel And I am to dance with
him, in his silver mail, and the star
shining in his casque. You don't know
anything about dancing; and, yet, I
have heard Of the dance Of death. Our
dancing is a sort Of ethereal buoyancy,
too. 1t is to be as a bird is, only to
fly, to sing to melody and measure. L
love to dance. Oh, why do you look at
me so? You frighten mel Don't, don't
clasp my wristl You are like ice--you
make me shiver, and I have just had a
hemorrhage, and it won't do, you knowl
Oil Must I gop Can nobody help me
Are you stronger than all Of them?
Oh, angel. dear angel Of death, spare
me; earth is 80 sweet, life is SO precious,
my life is so delightful, my dancing
oh just for tonight then, only to-
nightl" And in. her dream her voice
rose and struggled and fell back i'm
potent in her throat. uZl l#,.lI&
"For tonight For tonight, until
the, stroke of twelve them" said the
great frost-white shape. 'T1I will
see you later.'' And the broad moon
beam fell emptily on the purple rugs,
and there was no one in the room; but
Anne Estray-if that were she,~ indeed,
in the chair where her dream had just
ended, asleep, her head fallen a little on
one side. Things look so very differ
emily, so unreal to the eye, by moon
light.
''The music is crashing from the bal
cony built behind the ballroom, in it's
forest of palms and ferns and huge
orange trees; and the air is bewildering
y fifth the breath of the roses that gar
land the walls; of the stephanotis, the
(.azalias, the jasmine, tile hoIiotropes,
the carnations, that are bedded on man
te! and console, that swing from chan
deliers, that 1estoon the lintels, that
line the passage-ways, laughing voices
tinkle in tune to the tinkle Of harpstring
and piccolo: strange, lovely forms move
in measure; flower girl, whose skirts
inclose her like the petals Of rose,
slides along in the arms Of Euroclydon;
sea nymph, in her pale green gauzes
and her shells, skins by with winged
Mercury; Ophelia hangs upon King
Lear as if he were her willow tree;
Psyche and Eros flash by together; all
sorts Of fantastical figures are waited
along by the breath of the music, glow
ing, half transported with the deli
ciousness Of the flowers, the melody Of
blowing horns and flutes and Of sharp
violin strings; smiling, gay, warm with
life ard all the joy Of the senses. But
there is one dancer that, looking on the
scene, you would miss; you would know
her in any disguise, for there is no dam
Ger in the town to compare with her;
when she is on the floor all others seem
heavy, and slow and inert. She islate-.
ah, no-there she is nowl She is Il mist
Of tulle, wrapped in it, yelled with it,
surrounded by it's flowing folds, herself
hardly seen for its airy circumambi-
ence, as she hovers there one moment,
waiting the approach Of that form in
its shining suit Of silver scale-armor,
with the great star burning in the cas-
que, the form that looks like one Of
Flaxman's outlines filled with life, and
blood and strength. 1t Is Lucifer; she
melts into his arms, as cloud might
melt upon q pine, as a wave upon q
rock, a moment pausing for the turn Of
the tune, and then swinging away on
it's tide. Does she hear the band, as it
beats and sings out the wild strains of
the dance-music than which mono pull
safes with keener pathos or leaves a
sadder echo in the heart? Does she
see the twinkle Of the wax-lights, the
sweep of the crowd, the colors, the
jewels, the lustres? Does she perceive
the perfumes with which the air is rich
and sweet, essence and altar, the aroma
Of wines, the breath Of the abundant
blossoms all about her, and that pierce
the brain now with delight and now
with better memoriesp She does not
wear the opals and moonstones: they
are too heavy; but under allthe diapha-
nous swirl of the drapery she glitters
xa.itl, Of niaE